


The Dueling Champion of Taris

by Writing_Doodle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Dark Side Options, Death Match, F/F, Found Family, Gen, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Minor Character Death, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Lessons, Philosophical Discussions of the Force, Planet Taris (Star Wars), Pre-Relationship, The Force, Vague Existential Crisis, but they WILL deny it, followed by
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writing_Doodle/pseuds/Writing_Doodle
Summary: “I’ll only ask one more time - what does the new champion want with me? Holding your own against those pathetic duelists doesn’t automatically make us friends.”“I’m sorry for giving the wrong impression,” Mala bowed her head slightly. Then, she leaned forward, remaining amusement draining from her face. With the way the Mandalorian stilled, she knew her eyes finally pierced through that damn visor. “I’m not here to make friends.”-In which Mala enters a death match and doesn't understand why the rest of the party is freaking out.
Relationships: Female Revan & Bastila Shan, Female Revan/Bastila Shan, Revan & Bastila Shan, Revan & Carth Onasi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	The Dueling Champion of Taris

**Author's Note:**

> I started playing KOTOR and got Extremely Attached to my player character, to the point where I'm just writing out everything I do. This will probably not be the only fic I write where I explore my character as I see her and the other character's interactions with her. I'm just here for a good time!
> 
> Her name is Mala Khan, she was a smuggler, she has Issues, and I love her dearly. 
> 
> (Maybe I'm making everyone a little nicer than they are, but it's MY canon and I get to enforce the Found Family)

Mala met his eyes as soon as she entered the room. More accurately, she felt his eyes on her and tried her best to find them in return. It was hard to tell, but she was pretty sure her stare was able to break through his visor. She had always been good at reading people and she wasn’t going to let the head-to-toe armor keep her from picking up whatever scraps she can find. His helmet tilted slightly and that was a success as far as she was concerned. 

She ordered a drink and sat at his table without a word. They regarded each other briefly, before the man spoke, 

“Careful with that. Stuff is strong for off-worlders.” 

Mala responded by knocking it back in one shot. 

He didn’t look impressed. “Are you going to tell me what you want?”

“You know who I am,” Mala replied, rather than giving an actual answer. 

A brief pause. “No one knows who you are,” the voice modular in his helmet couldn’t bury the slight amusement in his voice. “‘ _ Mysterious Stranger _ .’” 

Mala smiled, wide and very pleased with herself. “I  _ knew  _ I saw you watching that last fight.”

“Surprised you were able to keep an eye on the stands with Twitch to deal with.” 

“Somehow, the yellow armor helped.” Mala called for another drink, both because it felt deserved and because she needed something to hold. Something else to focus on besides the man in front of her and the conversation they were having. “I’d order you one, but you don’t seem to take off that bucket of yours.” 

“How generous,” The man sneered. “I’ll only ask one more time - what does the new champion want with me? Holding your own against those pathetic duelists doesn’t automatically make us friends.” 

“I’m sorry for giving the wrong impression,” Mala bowed her head slightly. Then, she leaned forward, remaining amusement draining from her face. With the way the Mandalorian stilled, she knew her eyes finally pierced through that damn visor. “I’m not here to make friends.” 

“You’re looking for a fight,” he realized, almost in disbelief. Something else was there, though, carefully hidden underneath the protective shell of armor and confidence. Mala reached out for it before it could squirm out of reach and was pleased to find it was  _ interest.  _

“You have a bounty on your head, Starkiller,” Mala leaned back into her seat, making a show of overconfidence. Except it wasn’t quite a show, was it? She was never one to overestimate her abilities - no, that only got you killed. She felt something, though, deep in her bones. Something she didn’t quite understand but left her itching for a fight. A  _ real  _ fight. Not the frankly sad encounters with the gangs of the undercity and their pathetic guards. Even the rabid rakghouls were hardly a pleasure to put down. Inexperience versus pure instinct - nothing but business all around. No challenge, no… 

She didn’t know how to feel about this newfound need to  _ prove  _ herself. 

Starkiller tilted his helmet and she knew he also felt her own restlessness. “That’s not what this is about.” 

Mala could only smile. “It’s lonely on the top, isn’t it?” 

He actually laughed at that - small and contained, more of a release of air than anything else. “I thought you were crazy for taking on Twitch, but now I know you’re just stupid.” 

“He was  _ nothing _ ,” Mala snarled, surprised at her own ferocity. “Little more than an animal in the arena. I need an opponent that can  _ think _ . One that will  _ fight. _ ” 

“You’ll die,” he said with a shrug. She had his attention, though, she could feel it. They both wanted the exact same thing: one last good fight. 

“We’ll see about that,” she replied, offering her hand. “Are you in?” 

His helmet was blank and impassive, but she saw the excitement hidden in the creases of bent metal and chipped paint. He took her hand. “I’ll set up the arrangements. Be back here tomorrow, two hours after the sun sets.” 

“Pleasure doing business with you.” 

“Yes. It’ll be fun watching the life leave your eyes as you choke on your own blood.” 

“Charming.” 

* * *

Mala didn’t delude herself into thinking her current company would  _ approve  _ of her recent decision to fight in a death match, but she still found herself surprised by how viscerally they all reacted to the news.

She didn’t expect Mission to actually  _ cry.  _

“Hey, kid, it’s gonna be alright–” 

“ _ No  _ it’s  _ not,”  _ she yelled back, voice mostly stuck in her throat. “It’s Griff  _ all over again. _ ” 

Mala felt herself flinch at the comparison to Mission’s brother. Before she could say anything, Mission was already in her room, the door sliding shut with a finality that Mala didn’t enjoy. She knew that attempting to continue the conversation from behind a closed door was useless. Mala sighed and pressed her forehead against the cold metal, suddenly feeling very lost. 

Bastila, despite all of her grandstanding about being a paragon of virtue or whatever, still looked absolutely murderous when Mala reentered the common room. It wasn’t anything new - Mala was used to Bastila’s constant disapproval by now. What really hurt, though, was Carth. 

He wouldn’t even look at her, instead focusing all of his attention on cleaning his blaster. 

Mala would never admit out loud that she grew to enjoy Carth’s company in the last several weeks they were forced to work together. She thought, maybe, of all the people who wandered their way into this group, that he would  _ understand.  _ He’s known her the longest, knows as much of her history as she would tell anyone. 

She can’t get the disappointed look on his face out of her head. 

“Mala,” Bastila finally broke the silence, voice tight. “Come with me.” 

It was a tone Mala hasn’t heard before and it made her blood run cold for the briefest moment. It was a command and she knew that Bastila would accept nothing less than absolute compliance. Mala nodded, burying the sudden spike of trepidation as far down within herself as she can. She would be damned before letting anyone here know just how much she’s been knocked off-kilter. 

They didn’t speak as they left the apartment, as they left the building, as they walked past the many Sith patrols that hardly gave them a second glance. Mala felt the anger, the frustration, roll off of Bastila in waves despite the almost alarmingly calm expression on her face. No one else, Mala realized, would know just how pissed she was. No one else  _ should.  _

Except her. 

Except her and her uncanny ability to read people. Her ability that far too often extended beyond the realm of what should be possible.

Mala wanted to scream. 

They were in a relatively secluded area between buildings when Bastila finally turned on her. “Do you care to tell me what in  _ all the galaxy  _ you were possibly thinking?” 

Mala felt her back hit the alley wall. “I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to get mad,” she countered. 

Bastila took a step back, nostrils flaring and eyes burning. For the first time since Mala’s met her, she was the terrifying force of nature that sent the Sith cowering into the shadows. Mala refused to cower. She  _ refused.  _

The waves of anger eased - a storm rather than a tsunami. 

“My apologies,” Bastila didn’t look apologetic in the least. “I am waiting for an answer, Mala.” 

“I was  _ thinking  _ that it wouldn’t be a big deal,” Mala had to look away so she wouldn’t choke on whatever lies she would have to tell. “We need the credits.” 

  
“You expect me to believe this is just about the credits?” 

“Starkiller has a government bounty on his head. When I win, I’ll be getting the share of the purse in addition to the bounty. We  _ need  _ it.” 

“Try again.” 

“He’s a murderer, no matter how you look at it. He’s killed hundreds, just for entertainment. He refused to go down in any way  _ but  _ a death match.” 

“Look at me in the eyes and repeat that.” 

Mala did, adding quietly at the end, “He wanted the fight.” 

Bastila narrowed her eyes,” And so did you.” 

Mala looked away, scoffing. “So?”

“ _ Damn it, Mala,”  _ Bastila yelled, frustration reaching a peak she could no longer contain. “Do you understand that the galaxy doesn’t revolve around you?” 

“Logically, yes.” 

“ _ No,  _ you  _ don’t. _ If you did then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

“Why does this matter?” Mala finally snapped back, the shards of frustration, restlessness, and  _ anger _ , finally clawing its way up her throat and out her mouth. “Why do you  _ care? _ We’re not  _ friends,  _ Bastila. You’ve made it perfectly clear how low your opinion is of me. Why the  _ kriff  _ do you care about what I do and where I get my credits - credits I  _ give to all of you. _ ” 

Bastila paused, a wave of shock rippling through the air around them. It dissipated quickly. Her voice was cold when she replied, “You’re right - we  _ aren’t  _ friends. If you were any other person in any other circumstance I wouldn’t even think twice about you. The fact is, Mala, that you  _ aren’t any other person.  _ Do you understand what it means to be Force sensitive? It means that you are so much more than yourself.” 

“That’s bullshit! I’ve only ever had myself until now–” 

“And I’m sorry for that,” Bastila interrupted, truly looking mournful at all the years Mala has been left alone. “I'm so sorry that for whatever reason you weren’t discovered. It’s not fair that you were left with this power without anyone around to help you control it.”

“I don’t  _ need _ help.” 

“Apparently you do, because when left unsupervised you challenge someone to a  _ death match. _ ” 

Mala looked away, crossing her arms. “What does that have to do with all of the,” she waved her hand dismissively. “Magic nonsense.” 

“It’s not magic,” Bastila rolled her eyes. “I can feel how restless you are. You’re scared and confused and you’re lashing out.” 

Mala didn’t say anything. 

“The Force is using your body as a conduit and you can’t do anything to regulate it because you’ve never had any training. You are bleeding out into the world and it is bleeding into you in return. You don’t know who you are anymore and it terrifies you.”

“You don’t  _ know  _ me.” 

“I can  _ feel  _ you, Mala,” Bastila placed her hand on Mala’s chest, right over her heart. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

Mala found herself at a loss for words. The denial died in her throat and festered into something dangerously close to honesty. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“You didn’t,” Bastila agreed. She took a step back and glanced at the people passing by. “The Force works through everyone, not just those that are sensitive to it. They will go through their lives completely unaware of the energy around them and the Force will flow from one place to the next. The moment you’re aware of it, the Force takes interest. It lingers. It influences. When a normal person makes a choice, nothing actually happens. The effects are limited to the physical world and that world moves on. When the Force takes an interest, that person’s actions are no longer their own - not really. The effects extend far beyond the physical realm and they leave scars. Why do you think Jedi have to be so disciplined? Our actions extend so much further than we can ever know.”

She looked back at Mala. “The more you lash out, the more you poison yourself and the world around you. You can’t keep acting like this.” 

“Like what?”

“Like a  _ criminal. _ ” 

And Mala had to laugh at that, angry and hysterical and disbelieving. “I’m not sure you’re aware of this Bastila, but I  _ am  _ a criminal! I was a smuggler! A bounty hunter! I’ve done  _ so many things  _ I regret just so I can make it from one day to the next. You can’t sit here on top of your pedestal and tell me what to do. You can’t even  _ begin  _ to understand anything about me. You can’t…” She shook her head, willing the angry tears stinging her eyes to not flow. “You can’t just tell me to suddenly turn off everything I relied on to survive up until this point. It doesn’t work like that. I don’t care if I’m dragging you all down with me - I’m not asking you to stay. I survived this long on my own and I’ll keep surviving after all of you leave.” 

Mala shoved Bastila away and stormed off. The air around her seemed to weigh a ton. 

* * *

By the time Bastila cleared her head enough to return to the apartment Mala had already locked herself into her room. She touched the door, feeling the bitter sorrow leak through the metal. 

She sighed, walking back to the common room to… she didn’t know. She hasn’t quite figured out what to do with herself while in the presence of other people. She couldn’t meditate, not with the steady push of darkness at the edge of her vision. It worried her. 

“Whatever you said pissed her off,” Carth observed. He’s long since moved from cleaning his own blasters, to everyone else’s. His own form of meditation, perhaps. 

“It wasn’t my intention,” Bastila still didn’t know where she went wrong in the conversation. She didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, that didn’t need to be said. “I don’t understand her.” 

Carth laughed, finally looking up from the disassembled pieces spread across the table. “At least we have that in common.” 

“You’ve been with her the longest, yes? You both escaped the Spire together.” 

“That doesn’t mean I know anything about her,” Carth shrugged. “She tends to keep things to herself.” 

“How is that tolerable?” 

“I tend to let her lead. She’s… headstrong.”

“That’s an understatement,” Bastila muttered. 

“Yeah, I suppose. I’m not going to lie and say she isn’t the most frustrating person I’ve ever been around.”

“Yet you two seem close.”

“Don’t tell her that,” Carth laughed. A thoughtful look crossed his face. “She’s saved my ass more times than I can count. I think she feels like she owes me.”

“Why would you say that?”

“As far as I know we’re the only two people who survived the crash, but she almost didn’t. She was unresponsive for several days before she made a sudden recovery. She thinks I saved her life, but really, I didn’t. She saved herself with her… weird Force magic, or whatever.” 

Bastila couldn’t help but laugh. “Why do you all think it’s magic? It’s not magic.”

“It basically  _ is  _ magic.” Carth shook his head. “Anyway, if there’s anything I know about her it’s that she hates feeling like she’s indebted to someone.” 

Bastila pondered the words. “What was she like? I’ve only known her for a few days.” 

“Even more closed off than she is now if you can believe it. She hardly talked and when she did she didn’t care how she came across. She was… harsh. Ruthless, even. She’s used to getting what she wants by any means necessary. Other people were just an afterthought. We…” He looked hesitant to share the story. “We discovered some injured Republic soldiers being treated by a medic. He begged us not to say anything and she only agreed after ensuring he’ll give us a discount from now on. I was… angry would be an understatement. She told me afterwards that she never intended to report the soldiers to the Sith. I didn’t believe her, of course.” 

“That's horrible.” 

“Notice the past-tense, Bas. I believe her now.”

Bastila didn’t bother to comment on the nickname. “What changed your mind?”

“She gave the rakghoul serum to the same medic, rather than selling it to Davik, and she put herself at risk to save those infected people even though they couldn't pay her. She didn’t get anything out of it and yet... “ Carth laughed a little. “It actually surprised me. I was sure I was going to fight over her making the right decision, but she did it on her own. I’ve caught her complaining about it, though - especially whenever we got low on credits.” 

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

“I’m saying that I think she wants to be a good person, but she doesn’t know how. Or… she finds it difficult to put people before herself. Not even in a selfish way, just in… a survivor way, I guess.” He frowned, sitting back in his seat. “When we were in the Black Vulkar’s base looking for the swoop bike engine - don’t laugh, our rescue plan  _ worked _ \- we ran into someone with security codes. He gave them to us willingly because he wasn’t Black Vulkar. I forgot the reason why he was trapped there. Anyway, after getting the codes Mala reached for her swords. I held her back and let the guy escape and we had a huge argument, right in the middle of what was supposed to be a stealth mission. I won’t go over the whole thing, but in the end, she backed off and called me an idiot for not letting her kill him. The entire time afterwards she was… I wouldn’t call it jumpy, exactly. She kept glancing around like she expected us to be attacked or for an alarm to go off. She didn’t relax for the rest of the mission until we were out of there.” 

“She expected him to reveal your location.” 

“Yeah,” Carth shrugged. “I’m not going to say she was right in wanting to kill the man, but I guess I can understand it from her point of view.  _ She _ might want to make the right choices, but she doesn’t trust that  _ others  _ will.” 

Bastila was silent as she mulled over the words. 

“Did you get what you wanted?”

Bastila winced, trying to piece together the scraps that were offered and fit them within her own perception of the maddeningly contradictory woman she had to keep her eye on now. She finally admitted, “I have no idea.” 

* * *

  
  


There were only a few minutes left before the fight when the door opened. Mala paused, moving the needle away from her arm as she looked up. 

“Bastila?”

The woman stood in the door frame, looking extremely uncomfortable both with the environment and the situation. She nodded stiffly, walking fully into the room and letting the door slide shut behind her. She rose her eyebrows at the stimulants sitting on the table. “It's not enough for it to be a death match, but you have to drug yourself up as well?” 

“If you're here to nag you can just leave,” Mala retorted, injecting another adrenal stimulant. “I’m giving myself every advantage I can.”

Bastila didn’t say anything, just sat down next to her. “Carth and I will be in the stands if that’s alright.” 

Mala injected something else and flexed her arm. She didn’t look at Bastila. “Mission?” 

“Zaalbar has her. She doesn’t need to watch this.” 

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” Mala didn’t enjoy how the thought of Mission somewhere, waiting for her, made her insides tighten. It had to be the stimulants. “I don’t mind you watching. I’d like to have someone around to collect my body if I lose.” 

“What happened to your confidence?” 

Mala shrugged, packing away her stimulants and laying out the various medpacs she bought beforehand. “Gotta plan for when things go wrong.” 

“You won’t.” 

“Won’t what?”

“Lose,” Bastila said simply. When Mala looked at her she added, “If you lose, I’ll kill you myself.” 

Mala couldn’t help but laugh at that, especially with how serious she looked. “Why are you here, Bastila? You already told me how you feel about this.”

Bastila shifted in her seat, looking down at her hands currently clasped on her lap. “I didn’t want our last conversation before this to be an argument. I haven’t changed my mind about how I feel, but I also wanted to say…” She bit her lip, finally looking up. “I hope that you find what you are looking for.” 

With that, Bastila walked out of the room wishing Mala a good fight.

Mala watched her leave, too stunned to say anything back.

* * *

Mala wasn’t nervous - she didn’t  _ get  _ nervous. She was just extremely aware of both herself, the person on the other side of the arena, and the people watching. She kept her breathing steady and her hands did not shake. There was no turning back from this moment. 

Starkiller’s stance was casual, overconfident. Mala hoped that she would be able to use that confidence against him. 

She didn’t listen to the announcer - she never did. Instead, she kept her breathing even and her muscles relaxed.  _ Trust yourself, trust yourself, trust yourself…  _

It was a mantra that got her through more fights than she can attempt to list. She always believed it was just good instinct, honed sharper through constant use. Now the idea that it was the Force all this time tugged at the edge of her mind. She growled, pushing that errant thought away. The  _ Force  _ was  _ bullshit _ and thinking about it would only distract her. 

_ Trust yourself, trust yourself, trust yourself.  _

The announcer called the start of the fight and everything seemed to stand still, just for a second. At the moment before everything would start moving again, she let herself go to the instinct that has kept her alive all this time. 

Before she could register the fact that she was running, she was halfway across the arena. The sound of an explosion going off where she once stood reassured her that moving fast and close was her best strategy. Her vibroblade was already in her hand, switched on and beginning to heat up from friction. She serpentined around blaster fire, trying to observe any weak points in the Mandalorian’s armor. 

There, unfortunately, seemed to be none. 

“I hate your armor,” she spit the moment she was close enough for him to hear. His laugh was almost manic as he swung his blaster at her head, too closed in to actually shoot her. She ducked close to the ground and attempted to slash at the gap in the armor behind his knees. She got a kick in the face for her effort. 

“Fuck,” she hissed, blood flowing freely from the nose that was definitely broken now. 

“A bit confident are we? Making conversation on the battlefield.” 

She rolled out of the way before he could shoot her. Kept herself close, attempting to make his oversized gun as useless as possible. She trusted her ability to handle a blunt object or sword, but plasma to the face was less than ideal in any circumstance. He swung again and this time she managed to block it with her vibroblade. He pressed down, hoping to make her stumble back. The heat of the blade made the metal spark and glow bright red. He fired a few times, attempting to shake her loose, but she grit her teeth and stood her ground. Her ears rang and her arms shook. The only thing that kept her standing was the stimulants pumping through her body, working it past its limits. 

The sparks grew more volatile and Mala knew that one of them was going to have to make a decision quickly before the blaster would explode in his hands. Of course, he didn’t back down. What’s an explosion to a man in full body, face protecting armor? 

Mala scraped her blade across the barrel of the gun and used the momentum to roll away. She stumbled a bit and managed to catch her balance just in time for Starkiller to slam her to the ground. His gun was on the floor, as well as most of the fingers of his right hand. 

“I’m going to enjoy killing you, Stranger,” Starkiller growled, pressing his knee to her chest with enough force for her to feel her ribs strain. Mala bared her blood-stained teeth as he pressed down against her throat with his good hand. She kicked uselessly against the weight of both him and the armor. Spots started dancing in her vision and she thought briefly that of all the ways to die, this was truly the least dignified. She would’ve rather had him slit her throat and be done with it.

Her vision narrowed. She focused on his helmet. 

She had to get that damned thing off. 

She let herself go limp, hoping the overconfidence she spotted earlier would rear its head. True enough, the pressure on her chest lessened as he focused all his strength on crushing her throat. She tucked her knees to her chest and kicked him off. 

It shouldn’t have worked. It really shouldn’t have with how much weight he had on her.

Yet, he flew off, landing on his back while Mala rolled over and wheezed. The air around her felt heavy with something she didn’t understand. Something that left the hair on the back of her neck standing on end and her mouth tasting like lightning. She pushed herself off the ground, arms shaking. To her surprise, Starkiller was still on his back, fighting against an invisible force that had him pinned. She didn’t hesitate.

She ripped the helmet off of his head. His face, she noted, was unremarkable. 

She unsheathed the shortsword she kept on hand and pressed the blade against his throat. 

“ _ Jetii _ ,” he hissed, hatred burning bright in his eyes. 

“If it makes you feel better,” Mala watched the blood run down his throat. “I’m not.” 

Then she sliced the blade and the fight was over. 

* * *

The bacta pad on her nose itched like crazy, but at least the bleeding stopped. Mala groaned as Bastila poked around, resetting the broken bone as best as she could. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” she muttered. 

“I’m so sorry Master Jedi for having a normal reaction to a  _ broken nose _ ,” Mala hissed with no real venom - she was too tired for that. 

“It’ll heal,” Bastila assured. She stepped back and scanned Mala up and down for further injuries. So far there was nothing more than the bruised neck, ribs, and broken nose. All things considered, Mala got out of the fight with hardly a scratch. 

It could be called a miracle if you didn’t know better. 

Unfortunately, Mala and Bastila both did _.  _

“I didn’t win that fight,” Mala admitted, as she was led back to the apartment. Random people congratulated her - called her a champion, hero, monster, etc. It just made her feel worse.

Carth glared at the passersby, discouraging any more fans from confronting them. “I don’t understand what happened at the end, but it looked like you won to me.”

“I  _ didn’t. _ ” 

“You did,” Bastila reassured, opening the door to their apartment. 

Mission jumped to her feet, scrubbing her face before anyone could get a close look at the tears. She rushed over, preparing to throw her arms around Mala, before thinking better of it. She stopped a few steps away, shifting her feet awkwardly. 

“I watched,” she finally said. “On the holopad.” 

Mala sighed, placing her hand on the girl’s head just as awkwardly. She wished the Twi’lek had hair to ruffle or something. “It’s good to see you, too, kid.” 

“You were amazing,” Mission continued. “I’m sorry I… I’m sorry for what I said.” 

Mala shook her head, dropping her hand. “Don’t be. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.” 

Bastila tugged Mala towards her room. “You two can talk later,” she said, giving Mission a sympathetic look. “She needs to rest.” 

Mission nodded, slowly walking back to Zaalbar, stealing glances the entire way. The Wookie didn’t say anything. He just observed Mala being led away with a look somewhere between respect and pity. 

“You don’t need to hold me up,” Mala shrugged off Bastila’s hand, all but collapsing into her bed. 

“You’re exhausted,” Bastila examined her drooping eyelids and shaking legs. “The Force takes a lot of energy to use, even among trained Jedi.” 

“I didn’t win the fight,” Mala repeated, curling up on the bed. “If I didn’t have the  _ Force,  _ or whatever, I would’ve been dead.” 

“Some Jedi would have been dead even with the Force on their side. You earned your victory, Mala.” 

Mala was so quiet that Bastila thought she finally fell asleep. She barely heard her mutter, “I didn’t find what I was looking for.” 

Bastila would not admit that the confession made her chest ache, just a little. In a moment of weakness, she brushed her hand against Mala's forehead, sweeping her bangs out of her eyes. They were glazed, staring somewhere far into the past. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to help you.” 

“Bein’ around’s enough,” Mala mumbled, before finally letting herself drift off to something close enough to sleep. 

Bastila watched the steady rise and fall of her breathing far longer than she should have.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed :3c


End file.
